Depression of the Young Literati
by xX3B.r.o.k.e.n.3Xx
Summary: "How far would you go to save your own life?" "Very." Boomer x Buttercup. Language, strong violence, character death.
1. P:0 Memory Lane

I was falling. It was all dark. There was no light. There was no sound, other than the wind ripping through my tangled hair and torn clothing; chilling air all over my body. I could not see but I could feel. I was shivering, a slight, buzzy tingle every once in a while, traveling from my head, crawling down my spine, working its way to my legs, to the tip of my toes and back. My limbs danced helplessly with the rushing wind, like a ragdoll. I was slowly regaining consciousness; consciousness that was brought back by fear and realization of what would happen at any moment.

I gained consciousness only so that I could feel every ounce of pain that would strike me when I collide with the ground. I would wake up just for the pain. The pain…

…It brought back the memories, bittersweet illusions. Illusions making me feel as if time rewound itself to a place in life where everything was simple and sweet. Where I was not falling to a cold floor but into the arms of the one I loved instead. A place where I was carrying a school bag filled with books instead of bloody weapons used to slay the people that used to be my friends; a place where my body was covered in childish just-add-water tattoos instead of the dried blood, caked-on dirt and wounds that I am afraid might permanently scar me.

A place I used to call home.

Home was long-gone; it was out of the question. There was no turning back to that place now. I couldn't go back; I can't even _want_ to go back. I would be cruel if I showed my face in the place I called home, and the reason is because of my own doing.

That place of warmth and love, childhood and family, happiness and all…

…was the place I destroyed.

At this time, while I fall to my fate, I shall recall every detail of my life, every crevasse and crack of my brain I will explore, I will find out where it all went wrong.

I will find where _I_ went wrong. I will see where the errors were made, and I will look back to all the various ways that it could have been corrected. I will fix it all. As pointless as it is, I will.

The darkness remained, no slivers of hope in the form of light, no way of seeing, no way of knowing where the sky and the ground meet. That means the floor would defeat me with the element of surprise. Not that I could do anything to save myself in this situation anyway, I guess it helps that I cannot see my fate coming.

Hot tears clouded my vision, but they don't dare to stain my cheeks. Simply put, I don't feel sad. I was at peace, left with the calm floating feeling, giving me a lot to think about. I weary smile cursed my face, as if my brain was letting me know that I was no longer in control of my body or my movement. I did not feel like smiling, but I wasn't sad. My mind had used that against me by making me smile and making me cry as well. It seems that I've lost everything now, even myself.

I couldn't help but lose control of the breath I'd been holding back for a while. It slowly escaped my lungs in the form of a soft sigh. It was a sign. I had a long trip down memory lane, and this lane stretched as far as the eye can see.

_Let the journey begin…_


	2. 1:1 Keio Station

The train took forever to get here, yet it only seems to be late whenever I'm at the station.

Misfortune seemed to keep me good company, but there isn't a thing I can do about that. I seem to have gotten used to it, as lonesome as it was. But, misery loves company, I'm fine with it.

Yes, I am miserable, and no, I don't care to change; at least not anymore. I've given up on trying. Now I just sit and wait, wait for the train as it takes its precious time. It doesn't bother me, because I have a good book to read. From my favorite author, Osamu Dazai, whose metaphorical ways have captured me.

It would be a pleasure to meet him. Maybe get him to sign my book. I've always wanted that, it would mean the world to me. His aspiring words have guided me through life, like the pages were clouds and I was the words, gentle floating through them. It would be my greatest dream come true, just to see the man behind the pen and paper in real life, to see him eye to eye, to finally understand what my life truly means, or if it bares any meaning at all.

Though, long ago, he committed suicide.

"It was a lifetime filled with endless shame" Oba had said. That it was "only spent with lies being told." I have every reason to believe him. I've witnessed that my whole life. People used to laugh and call him "a gloomy guy", but even so, I couldn't shake his words out of my head.

…I wonder why…

The sight of something from the corner of my eye captured me, pulling me out of my thoughts. A young girl, no older than me, stood in the station a few meters out of my way. She had black hair, it was short and slightly messy, but nevertheless, she looked like a normal average human being.

A pretty human being as well.

She bared a small notebook, about the same size as the book in my hand, and a tiny red bookmark poked out from the side, almost identical to the one I had currently- at least it seemed to be identical from afar.

The train was arriving at the station now; I stood up and was automatically displeased as people started to suddenly crowd around my vicinity. I never enjoyed the company of a stranger, I'm pretty sure that no one else would in general. I moved to my left, avoiding the people around me, desperate to get where they're going, not caring about anyone who wasn't with them. I ended up moving to a place where that young beauty was no less than 2 steps beside me.

It was the very front of the train, little to no one was here, just me and her.

The car doors swung open, chiming that all too familiar tune, warning others that it was time to enter.

She casually strolled in first and I followed suit.

I chose to stand; I've been sitting all day today. I popped my book open to my latest page and carried on, not paying attention to the petty things on the subway. I was lost through the pages of endless words; words that mattered to me and would always matter to me. Words of brilliance danced the divine waltz in my head, each sentence dazzling me to no end. I felt lightheaded and happy for a change. I was in my place of enjoyment, my place of peace, my peace of mind.

"You're an Oba fan?" A voice reached out, shaking me violently out of my happy place and back into the real world; a world I despised to no end.

I looked up, regretfully bitterly, at the person who spoke. My expression quickly morphed into that of a normal human beings upon seeing the girl that had called out to me. The young girl, looked at me with curiosity and a gentle gleaming smile. I looked at the book in her hand; _Schoolgirl _by Osamu Dazai.

I almost smiled, but I held it back. "Yes, I see you are too." I said with a friendly voice. "What chapter are you on? I've always wanted to read that but I've never had the chance to get all that far." She inquired politely.

Maybe this small trip wouldn't end so badly, after all.

* * *

><p>It was my stop. I had almost missed it because I had been enjoying myself a little too much. Buttercup (as I now learned her name) and I had been sitting on the subway, I read out loud to her my book, and she listened attentively. I finished the last line as the train came to a roaring halt. "Well, Buttercup, this is my stop." I announced, accidentally letting the disappointment in my voice carry on, she looked up in alert, and quickly jumped to her feet. "This is my stop, too." She said with slight excitement.<p>

How perfect. I met a dashing young girl who shared the same common interests as me.

"Which way are you going?" I discovered the nerve to ask.

I was grateful when she responded with the same direction.


	3. 1:2 The Lake Shore and The Fish

I had walked with this girl, we found out more about each other as the time progressed. She was a high school student, almost finished her last year, just like me. She had seemed oddly familiar, but I shrugged it off until I realized we were going to the same place. As we stepped out of the train at the outdoor station, the crisp morning air tickled her face pink, and it sent slight chills down my spine. I enjoyed the fresh smell; the smell you could only attain in the mornings after the misty rains. It was crisp, natural; it reminded me of a place I used to be.

Back at my original home, the home where I was born and stayed until I was 8 years old. I used to run outside upon waking up, not caring of anything. My only requirement was to go sit on the edge of the still grey lake and listen to nature waking up from its slumber. Silence would be overwhelming, but at the same time it was comforting. The birds could be heard over the steady breeze and the relaxing splash of water every now and then. I could never spot what made the splashes, it was either the water hitting the rocky banks or the fish splashing upwards like they usually did, but each time I was always searching for the opposite. When the fish rose up, I was looking at the rocks. When the rocks created the splash, I was looking at the fish. At times I could`ve sworn, when I was looking at neither, they would both happen at the same time. It would be like that until my family called me in for breakfast.

In the end, it seems like the odds have never been in my favour. I just now realized this as I recalled the story of the lake shore and the fish. As a child I always thought of that little ordeal as a petty little game, not serious at all, just a way to pass the time with serenity. But now that I've grown up and have my experience, I know that it wasn't a game. The lake shore and the rocks were taunting me, warning me of the future, and how I'll never see life coming, how I'll always be taunted with things out of my reach. Suddenly the treasured memories of bliss were haunted and bitter.

I had a strong urge to just look back at moments and now decipher whether or not they were good or bad, now that I think about them. But that would have to wait, I had company, and she was a nice girl. I wouldn't want to upset her by ignoring reality. I turned to her and smiled, and she looked at me with the same expression.

"Don't you love mornings like this?" She asked, her voice calm and serene. "…Yes and no," I replied truthfully. She flung her head in my direction, looking up at me with those jade eyes. "-It brings back memories; bittersweet memories." She looked at me and grinned with a sad look in her eyes as I trailed off, lost in my thoughts. "I understand." She simply said, grabbing my attention. "It's the same for me." She smiled again. I noticed she clutched her book tighter for some reason, and I noticed I had done the same.

Then I saw it. It was the school- My school, and she was heading the same direction. Now I know where I've seen her before, she was that close to me and yet…

At least we met on circumstance, maybe we could talk at lunch. It was as if she read my mind like she read a book. "Hey, you go here? Maybe we can talk during lunch, or free-period." She offered.

Obviously I accepted.


	4. 1:3 Ladders

_School is a place of knowledge, and is a place that leaves you brain-dead. Whether good or bad, accommodating or malicious, there are always two sides to each and every story. I've never quite known what end I grabbed on to in this disregarded side of society– I've never felt the need to search for who I am. I am a learn-as-I-go kind of guy; I don't like to have my life experiences and expectations handed to me on a to-do list. _

* * *

><p>Impatient people sputter about, looking for friendship and relationships to guide them, using the rungs of a social ladder to rebuild the tracks for a train wreck. I avoid people as best I can, not wanting to be involved with the crash. At a point in my life I was like them all; using my contacts and sources to become the <em>Popularity<em>, or at least just a decent status that would get me somewhere. But it's a dog-eat-dog world here, people would climb me like their own ladder, their base of support, and when they felt they picked enough apples from this tree, they would take rungs from me and rebuild the ladder elsewhere. As time ticked away I became two impotent pieces of chipped and broken lumber, I wasn't the tall and sturdy ladder in the hierarchy anymore.

* * *

><p><em>School is a place of knowledge.<em>

* * *

><p>I was built solely for literature; I am a literature based creature. My heart and mind belong to the books I read, because I can picture myself perfectly in every word. Not many people even have the <em>right<em> to say that about themselves. I pride myself for having something that no one else has. I convince myself that my talent and interest in life-altering words is good enough to get me far, and that me being the only one of my kind makes me unique, above all.

Therefore, I am at the bottom of the ladder.

The girl with the jade-eyes - that familiar stranger- what would she think of me, as a whole, standing here? In this busy hallway, bursting with life in every direction your eyes avert their gaze to, there seems to be no life where I am. I am not life, you cannot live with me, but you can think, and envision the future as if it were a past. I am different, I am not life.

If Buttercup dares, she will meet me. She will not live, but she will not be another brain dead creature.

During a long journey on the tracks of the thinking train, I had been derailed. Someone out there managed to push aside my inner thoughts, a delay my well-awaited ride. I considered an ill-mannered comment as the result of a newly found bad mood. It was a teacher. I held my tongue.

"Your answer, Mr. Johnstein?" He repeated to me. The whole class was watching intensely, I could feel it. I braced myself for the snickering as I admit that I wasn't paying attention. He sighs, shaking his head.

I felt disappointed.

* * *

><p><em>It is a place that leaves you brain dead<em>

* * *

><p>Lunch came after much waiting and patience. My mind wondered through every nook and cranny of my past, weaving in and out through memories. Being so wrapped up in myself- so entangled in the web of my existence, I failed to notice the obsidian haired girl approaching. With a light tap on the shoulder I nearly flew. I heard a light chuckle as I stared at her blushed face."Didn't mean to startle you, Boomer." She managed to clarify through snorts and chortles. I felt the heat intensify in my cheeks, and I swallowed dryly. "Sorry, I was kind of wrapped up in my thoughts, I didn't notice you."<p>

She smiled warmly, it was familiar. I gawked awkwardly at her, catching myself before she noticed. There was something about this girl. Where ever she went, she gave me a sense of familiarity, as if I were closer to home. She was like a path to my home. Worry and fear washed over me in a wave of discomfort, I strained to maintain me deceiving smile. Something about her brought memories, and I did not understand it, like many things in my short life. She stopped smiling radiantly, and suggested a seating area for the two of us.

As she progressed in front of me, I felt the growing sensation of a flashback sneaking up on me.

I sighed, letting it play like a film in my head.


	5. 1:4 Opposites

_"Afterwards, we can go on that ride; the roller-coaster that goes through the mountain thingy!"_

_"Sure, we can."_

_"Neat-o! I can't wait!"_

_"Me neither."_

_"Could we stop for some food, though?"_

* * *

><p>She sat her tray down on a lunch table. I was never too fond of eating in crowds, especially in the cafeteria. Something about the feeling, it was uncomfortable. I leaned forward, pushing the food over with my fork. I didn't enjoy the company of others, though I managed to make an exception for this maturing girl. I looked into her almost golden eyes, a strange shade of green. She smiled gracefully, a warm and welcoming gesture. I did not return the favor.<p>

* * *

><p><em>"Um… Okay. What do you want?"<em>

_"Cotton Candy!"_

_"That's not food."_

_"Well, then… Pizza."_

_"Pizza it is."_

_"Or maybe burgers and fries…"_

_"Oh, that's fine too."_

_"And milkshakes!_

_"Alright, make up your mind quickly. We won't have time for the rides."_

_"Okay, cousin."_

_"Alright, do you want Veggie burgers? I know they're your favourite."_

_"Yeah!"_

_"Alright then, let's go."_

* * *

><p>She pulled out her phone, a flashy cellular device. I wasn't too fond of machines. But this lady was classy. She is the last person I'd expect to text for hours and send controversial images to people she had only just met. I know she isn't one of them.<p>

One of the Critters.

I refer to them as critters as they are unnecessary vermin. Not caring of grades unless their Facebook statuses are updated. Not minding if they cause a car accident, claiming the lives of a struggling, working, single mother and her young, new to the world child, as long as they can post a picture of their meal from yesterday's dinner at a local McDonald's. They are not needed. They are Social Shipwrecks.

They are Critters. _Twitter_ Critters. And they don't need to _litter_ these streets.

Buttercup is not one of _them_.

* * *

><p><em>"Cousin Boomer?"<em>

_"Just call me Boomer, okay?"_

_"Okay! Can I get mustard on mine?"_

_"You can have anything you want, it's your lunch."_

_"Thanks! What do you get on yours?"_

_"I like mayo, and some ketchup."_

_"I like ketchup too!"_

_"I like it more on my burgers than on my fries."_

_"We are opposites, then."_

* * *

><p>"Boomer, have you read this?" She handed me her cell phone, her face dimming just barely as the light moved away. I clutched the phone, staring into the white screen. <em>ZOO<em> by Otsuichi, my favorite collection of short stories. A large toothy grin crept onto my face as I let out a few chuckles.

"Of course I have." She laughed along, sliding her chair closer to the table, and undoubtedly closer to me.

* * *

><p>School dragged on after lunch, but I had maintained my first full conversation with Buttercup. She was easy going, not shy at all. She seemed to be a bright star, a fighter, with not a worry or care for the world around her. She asked for the location of my locker, and I asked for hers. She had followed me upstairs only to run late for her upcoming class. She ran, forcing her books into my locker like a madman. I laughed after her, watching her slender legs heave her weight at the speed of a bullet. Something tells me her teacher was a tough one, hard with enforcing the school laws.<p>

* * *

><p>The walk home was annoying and lonely without her. The image of a child version of my cousin appeared in my head, versus the old and current one. Before, when we were kids, me being twelve and him just nine, he had predicted our very future. He saw what I couldn't, and never imagined before.<p>

_"We are opposites, then."_

He was stern, more serious, more of an adult while uttering these words. Even for a nine year old, childish and irresponsible, clueless and whimsical. He spoke with a chilling tone, but back then it was taken lightly by me, and my three percent full brain.

The fights started later on. Disagreeing, arguments, yelling, cursing and stealing. Our relationship had gone downhill, and for reasons unclear to me at the moment. They became physical, aggressive, mean, _cruel_.

We don't talk much anymore. We don't get along when we do, but have matured enough to avoid conflict as best we can.

We are opposing. We are opposites. We are disconnected.

He likes ketchup on his fries, I don't.


	6. 1:5 Solid Walls

_Mother screamed. Mother pleaded and cried and the walls mimicked her voice and cried back. _

_Lips, light and soft, blew bubbles gently as they drifted deeper into a pool of darkening blue. _

_Crimson daylight fled from the embracing arms of night, the cascading silhouette of children ran across the horizon line._

_Separating the tops from the bottoms. Cut through like scissors and paper, two equal sheets, pale white flowed into pure red._

_A deep breath. _

_A deeper breath._

_A sigh. _

_Ear-splitting silence._

* * *

><p>I unwrapped my body from the sheets that entangled me. Of course; another night waking up in a cold sweat and airless lungs.<p>

Great.

I didn't bother to check the time, I knew it was early enough. Approximately five in the morning, or six even. I swung my legs across the firmness of the bed. I never liked softness, it made me feel small and flimsy, as if I didn't have any bones to support my body's weight. I didn't like feeling as if I had become a part of the fluff and stuffing within the items I touched, so my bed's mattress had the consistency of a mud-stone; Only moving to fit my body, not absorb it.

Throughout the short time I spent just to peel my aching body from my bedsheets, I was able to plan out my day.

I will take my shower, eat something nourishing for breakfast, and maybe this time around I'll go for an early morning jog.

Anything to get away from this godforsaken house.

* * *

><p>I found myself outside in the foggiest of mornings, they world and roads were monochrome grey, the distant horizon impossible to see through the whirling clouds that hovered along the outlines of the earth. I was at a loss of breath, mostly because the air was clogged with unbreathable thick gas and my lungs struggled to take in the oxygen blocked off by it all. The other small percentage was because of the ongoing cardio-workout.<p>

I stopped to catch my breath, resting the palms of my hands against the top of my knees.

But I suddenly found myself cringing from the immense pain throbbing in my head. Like the beating of hollow drums from every angle, every single direction that I could turn, nothing stopped the pain. I doubled over, taking sharp quick breaths.

I could barely breathe before, I will definitely have collapsed lungs now.

My vision reddened and blurred, I felt like I was suffocating. I could easily feel the beads of sweat tickling my scalp and dripping off my nose and chin. My ears felt like they were leaking as well, the pain in my head was like a distant rumbling, growing louder and louder until I felt the heat swell up, and despite logic, I feared that my head was going to literally pop, like a balloon under great pressures.

Silence.

The vibrations had ceased, and I was left with tightly shut eyes and a hunched over stance. I released my locked jaw and loosened my clenched fist from my hair, lowering them just an inch. Tearing them away would cause pain, as my index finger and thumb made a tangled knot in my golden tresses. The world spiralled into focus, and in my view- nothing but grey.

The fog was like a solid wall, cement on cement. It was simple, smooth, actually beautiful by generalist standards.

And I couldn't take it.

I ran home, full sprint. The images that came with the solid wall were haunting, cruel and left a bitter taste in my mouth.

The Listerines of Time could not wash out the foul taste. It took more than a single gurgle and spit to clean out those bad memories. I'll have to rinse and repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

* * *

><p><em>"Has no one shown you the pureness of art?" <em>

_"...No." _

_"My son, you just have to learn hard, like everyone else in the godforsaken house." _

_"But dad, can't I just-"_

_"No! Do you not seek the pureness of life!? Don't you understand the core of your own soul feeds off of the beauties you take in?"_

_"I...I didn't-"_

_"Indifference and Mediocrity are born from a mind that lacks Intellect and self-respect! I will not be pestered by an idiot child and his naïve youth."_

_"But dad I don't wanna go!"_

_"You are not my son if you can't use proper words instead of spitting slang at my feet. You will stay in this room, and you will learn to accept, breathe, and indulge yourself in art. I want you to stare into it until you are washed free from your graffiti-stained slate. Stare into the pure grey pools of art, enjoy her beauty, and come out after you feel normal again."_

_"Dad, it's too quiet in there! It's scary!"_

_"Silence is virtue, my boy. Fear is its sin."_


	7. 1:6 Crowded Halls

"Is everything alright?" I looked up to see watery jade eyes stare upon me with a worrisome mien. The utensils in her right hand remained just below her lips. She'd stopped consuming her Yaki Udon to question my well-being, who was I to ignore her and leave her with lack or nutrition? Only then had I realized the attitude she'd been receiving ever since she found me in the lunchroom.

Buttercup waited patiently, a quiver upon her voluptuous red lips as she began the anxiety, began thinking I would ignore her further.

This whole day, I had been ignoring her. Of course not anything intentional, the rapid and frightening thoughts on my mind kept me from visiting her locker, made me drift by her in the halls without a glance and continue to lunch without informing her. She found me and sat on her own accord, a mere _Hi_ muttered from her side of the table with no response, and the sound of a click and shuffling as she opened her container-sealed meal.

We were eating in total silence up until this point. The soft mush of the bento lunch box, as I dug my chopsticks in white rice and meat, was the only sign of my existence to her.

It made me sick, treating Buttercup in such way.

"I'm sorry, too much on my mind." She looked down at her lunch with a soft humming sound from her throat, my answer wasn't satisfactory enough. I continued to stare at her, unblinking as I chewed instinctively. Upon swallowing, I chose new words.

"I'm sorry," she fell into her mindless curiosity as usual, inquisitive of my repetition. "I haven't been feeling well, today."

"Is everything alright? What about the nurse's office, then?" I disagreed with a shake of the head, tearing my eyes apart from her glistening gaze to continue indulging myself with sustenance. The nurse didn't have enough equipment to cure me of this special illness. In fact, nothing less than therapy and a straitjacket would rid me of this mental disease. Everyone has the contagion. We are born with it, it being just a tiny little speck in the back of our underdeveloped minds. As we grow the illness mimics our every move, growing alongside us until we reach a certain age. Depending on the scenario, it begins shrinking and withering into nothing once more, and only then are we cured, cured of the disease called Memory. Although, not eternally, not indefinitely.

There will always be retentions that we can never forget.

"I don't think a nurse can do much for me…" I corrected her, and wiped away the sauce that dribbled its way onto my fingers. With pursed lips she entered a state of reflection, as if questioning her faith in the words I gave. I straightened out my weary backbones only to slump forward with my elbows resting on the table's edge once more.

We all have a good amount of skeletons in our closet, only a select few bear cemeteries; my percent of the equation, indubitably.

Alas, my mind is not an open book; it is a diary under lock and key. But of all the misfortune, my eyes always have a story to tell. I was never a good liar; a beneficial and tragic feature that constructs my being wholly. I did not wish to share with anyone my past. I tried my hardest to forget about it all.

But during the short time spent with Buttercup, I've been recollecting it all too clearly.

* * *

><p>The last-period bell sounded sharply, alerting the people that it was time return to their households, or move on to whatever they had planned next. I fled from my seat with a normal haste as the students around me fluttered spastically, so desperate in their search for timber to initiate the construction of their ladders. I nearly felt sick, seeing how they immediately flocked to their clusters, disregarding anyone who didn't resemble them in a mirror.<p>

As I start thinking about it, there are actually many young beings that resemble me, male and female. Most noticeably, Malachi Ishida, the boy from homeroom 6B. His blonde hair the same puffy style as mine, only a shade darker, his way of dressing in pea coats and dark jeans outside of school —same fashion sense—his shocking green eyes, build and height were the only thing keeping us apart in terms of looks, but it didn't stop people from occasionally asking about our genetic links. As a matter of fact, the first and final time he ever spoke to me was when he caught me at my locker, chuckling lightly and letting me know that people have been connecting us family wise. I just peered at him that day, not even a twitch in my lips as to indicate a smile. He took it as a hint when I stared wordlessly, and the awkward attempt at friendly conversation came to an end.

Another look-alike was Vélo Charlize-Troy, a foreigner attending the school after moving with her family from France. Her hair was also a bit darker than mine; she put in a clear effort to show as much skin as possible outside and inside of the school. Her hazel eyes were different, but we were actually not that far in height, weight and, dare I say, figure. She _is_ tall for a woman of her age, standing mere inches below me without the aid of stilettos. She is the tallest girl of room 2C, the tallest girl of Sugita TH. I _am_ regrettably small in terms of my shoulders and chest; I didn't go to the gym or pump myself full of steroids. I occasionally jog for fresh air, but after the incident of the early morn, I see myself avoiding that routine for a while. I am tiniest boy of room 2B, but the second tiniest boy of Sugita TH.

The smallest high school boy here was young Mike Believe of room 6B, a British foreigner attending the school. No one really knew much about him as he kept to himself, but he's known to mumble to himself quite often than normal. It's always been unsettling to me, but who am I to judge?

Shaking from my irrelevant views, I walked out of the classroom following a group of girls who were too loud compared to the distance they stood from each other. I could feel a scowl forming as they yelled excitedly into each other's faces about _hitting the mall_ after school. With tongues like theirs anyone could follow their conversations, privacy perished in their arms.

I scoffed, annoyed with the high pitched squeals. Had they not seen or heard of a shopping center before? The feigned fun and excitement tore my ears apart; my cheeks began to burn red-hot as I wondered what made it so interesting.

What made shopping so interesting? What made picking out random items from a shelf, and blowing off your parents' hard-earned money on smoothies and other fattening junk so interesting? What made having _friends_, people to _rely_ on, people to _talk_ to, people to spend _good_ time and make memories worth _keeping_ so interesting?

_I don't need it…Any of it. _

Before I could begin a downwards spiral into self-pity, a voice from rang out from the crowd, so meek and soft that I almost didn't notice at first. Assuming it was Buttercup, I turned around welcomingly to make up for my isolated demeanor, looking around for the mouth that released the vibrations of my name. Seeing no one, I sighed, releasing along with the air an irritation that I foolishly let build up within me. I spun on my heel only halfway to the right before the voice called out again, louder, livelier. Stopping dead in my tracks, my breath hitched and my blood ran cold. I was unable to prevent my eyes from growing into abnormally large circles.

That was _not_ Buttercup.

Excitedly jumping into my vision, the fair-haired man planted his feet in front of my being with a friendly wave and grin. "Hey," he started and I felt the muscles tense in my now dry throat. He stood for a second longer than the average person, his smile faltered for a split-second before growing even larger than before. Malachi should've known by now that silence awaits anyone who approaches me unexpectedly.

Or unwantedly.

Nonetheless, he continued, shifting his weight from one leg to the other with an arm behind his head, rubbing away at his butternut blonde tresses. "You know the cross-class projects that are assigned every year?" He spoke through my blank stare, still expectant of response. "Ya' wanna be my partner for it?" I almost gagged at his grammar and diction, but held my tongue. It had completely crossed my mind that the assignments were established on the bulletin board in the rotunda. I had failed to check as I spent recent mornings with Buttercup. But unbelievably, I was being asked by a stranger. Ironically a stranger I spent time thinking of just minutes prior. Well, Malachi was no stranger, being a well-known member of the school society.

Or in other words one of the highest rungs on the social ladder.

But why would I accept, after all that I've seen of him? I felt the anger boiling up in my face again. Irritable and shy, I opened my mouth to speak, no longer fond of him who stood before me. I wanted to think of the harshest of words possible. To bring up the past and remind him of how I could see through him. How I knew of all his secrets and flaws and how he's contributed negatively to the community, ruining someone's life most likely than not.

But I didn't.

Unable to take the eyes that would soon stare had I made a scene, I gave him an answer that wiped the beaming grin off of his face.

"I'll consider it."

With zero patience for a reply, I continued right on my heel, carrying on down the crowded hall.

* * *

><p><strong>_Names to Remember_<strong>

**Boomer Johnsteihn (_John-Steen_)**

**Malachi Ishida (_Maa-Lah-Kai Ee-She-duh_)**

**Vélo Charlize-Troy (_Vey-Low Shar-Leez_)**

***Sugita TH (Sugita Townsville High)**

**Mike Believe **


	8. 1:7 Plain Day

I was able to keep my gaze forward until I arrived at the school gates. At this checkpoint, I twisted my head towards the previous direction, staring briefly into the hoard of students pouring out of the tiny doors at an alarming rate. The small institute didn't look large enough to support the amount of beings exiting, but somehow we all managed to fit more than snuggly inside, further proof that looks are more deceiving than anything else in this world. I peered into the crowd, hoping excessively not to lock eyes with that blonde mop of hair that approached me minutes ago.

Avoidance was my goal; why was I searching frantically for the man I had left behind? I scorned myself, kissing my teeth as I reeled my head back to match the way of my feet. Before I could finish my step a hand grabbed mine and I found myself staring into envy green eyes.

"You're walking to Keio, right?" I nodded; relieved that Buttercup had no intent of leaving me behind after the mistreatment she received from my end. Instead of walking towards the gateway, she remained, forcing me to direct my body to hers. We were stopped on the side of the golden bars, allowing others access to the areas outside of school property. I made a questioning sound from my throat, and understandingly she replied, feeding my need for explanation. She wrapped her arms around her back, intertwining them out of my view. She bit her ruby lips, a sign that there was an uncomfortable air. I felt my muscles tense in the midst of awkward action. She finally spoke upon eyeing me from the bottom up. "Are you okay?" I released a stream of breath to her words.

"Yeah… I just felt out of it today." I didn't hesitate to reply honestly. There was no use in hiding my emotions; they weren't strong enough or unfamiliar enough for me to not understand. I was this way because of pain inducing memories that somehow forced their way into my mind after being gated for so long. Why it happened? I have not a clue, but I assume that making a friend for the first time in a long time was a spark that reminded me of all the previous beings I once shared a life with. But friendship is an open door; they all voluntarily saw themselves out.

I looked at the emerald girl once more; she was already staring back at me. Not surprising, considering my lack of connection to the world that day. "Anything you can talk about?" I took a step in front of her, making my way to the gates. She panicked for a second before stumbling to catch up. Soon we were side-by-side, casually drifting deeper into the city streets. "Are you a therapist?" I joked, not glancing at her as I spoke. She stifled a laugh, explaining her ironic interest in psychology. "Ah, so I'm your test subject?" She laughed at my response, jokingly agreed and remained with a smile.

* * *

><p>We separated, going to our respective areas; the now becoming daily routine.<br>We branched off at the subway, I watched as she boarded her bus, she waved to me with glee as the doors closed and the driver began to pull off into the somewhat busy street. I lifted my arm, flashing a quick and polite farewell as I watched her figure disappear into a row of seats behind the tinted glass windows.

My path home was short, on foot. I began home feeling more refreshed for once.

Something akin to the day I first met the envy-eyed angel.


End file.
